Saying No? No Way!

Winston looked from her mouth to the gallery and felt the old pull of her standing this close, diadem, gold, the white of her gown, the particular patience of a woman offering him the room she had already decided they would share.

“No,” he stated. “I would not.”

His hand was taken before the last of it had left his mouth. The terrace fell away behind them, then the court, the olive, the long fall of light through the colonnade, until the master’s door stood open on the chamber Tektonia had made for this. Cool stone underfoot. A broad bed dressed in white. The air still new enough to smell of plaster and linen and the water running somewhere beneath the house.

The gown came off against that white. Hippolyta pulled it up her body in one motion, past the flare of her hips and the heavy hang of her breasts, and let it drop somewhere behind her without looking to see where it landed. Diadem and torque stayed. The rest of her did not. Warmth met him as she backed him to the bed, mouth already on his, opening under the kiss while the mattress took their weight. Thighs parted around his hips. Soft, full breasts settled over his chest until there was almost no air left between them.

The height of her was his for once. She stayed under him. No shift of her weight toward mounting, no roll, only the slow opening of her body and the arms already gathering him in.

His cock dragged through the wet of her, then caught at the entrance of Hippolyta's cunt. Winston pushed. The head of him sank in, thick enough that her breath broke into his mouth, and he kept going, a long, steady drive that opened her around him until he was buried to the root and her cunt had taken every inch. Slick heat gripped him there, close and pulling. The kiss never quite stopped. Strong arms locked across his back and kept him there, clinging, pinning him down into her. When he drew back, her lips followed. When he pushed in again, the weight of her breasts mashed softer against his chest, nipples dragging, the torque’s gem trapped between them.

Winston kept to that same deep, unhurried stroke. Under him the former queen had nowhere to go except into the kiss, and she used it. Her mouth stayed open on his. Her tongue found the slow rhythm of his hips, answering each thrust before it quite finished. A sound started in her throat and never made it to a word. He swallowed it. Legs hooked at his waist and locked, heels pressing him in until every stroke bottomed out against her. The wet of it carried in the new room, too loud against all that unused quiet.

Whenever Winston tried to rise for leverage, Hippolyta's arms dragged him back down. Chest mashed to the heavy give of her breasts, his mouth still on hers, the kiss had nowhere to go except deeper. Greedy fingers spread across his back and pinned him there, so the next stroke had to come from his hips alone.

Those hips began to answer her. She met him on the way in, harder, and the kiss went wet and open, her tongue less careful now. Her cunt tightened in small, warning pulls that made the next thrust catch. Her breath broke against his teeth. The arms around him shook once and then clung harder.

“Winston,” she managed into his mouth, wrecked and still somehow certain. “There. There—”

The rest of it went into the kiss. The clench took her with her lips still on his, back arching off the white sheets, cunt seizing around his cock in hot, pulling spasms that dragged him in and held him there. The cry never left her mouth. Her breasts crushed up against his chest with every wave of it. She held on through all of it, mouth open, tongue still moving even while her body shook under him and tried to keep him rooted.

A few strokes more were all he had. The climax came up through him from where she was still fluttering, thick and helpless, and he drove in to the root with her mouth locked to his and spent. Pulse after pulse of it, heavy, flooding her, each rope pushed deep as her walls kept working around him and drew it further in. He stayed buried while it went on, hips pressed tight to hers, her arms still locked across his back, her breasts hot and heavy under his chest, the kiss turning slower and wetter as he poured himself into her womb.

The kiss broke only when there was nothing left to give. Her breathing slowed against his mouth. Fingers found his hair and stayed.

“Yours,” she stated, quiet now, the smirk gone, the claim already settled in the heat between them. “This kingdom. These cities. The room. The house. Me.”

Still inside her, he felt the wet warmth of what he had just put in her, and for a while that was the whole of the new house.